


In the Eyes of the Press

by Capesandshapes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capesandshapes/pseuds/Capesandshapes
Summary: When the press pays a little too close of attention to Tim the Bats come to the conclusion that the only solution is a diversion. With the help of Stephanie Brown, Tim manages to fake a relationship and still have enough time to save the world. But is it true what they say, are we doomed to repeat the past? If so, would Steph even want to? (Originally posted on FF.net 2016)





	1. Chapter 1

In the short amount of time that Stephanie Brown had found herself under work study in her university's library many titles had stuck out.

Everyone Poops, The Haunted Vagina, A Billionaire Dinosaur Forced Me Gay; in fact, all these titles could likely be used in some way to explain the titles before her.

"Tim Drake-Wayne, Missing from Yet Another Event of the Gotham Social Elite." She had to say it aloud just to believe anyone really cared that much. God, their speculations on the side of the tabloid could easily be supplemented. Was he busy with drugs, sex, or hiding his sexual orientation at the moment? Perhaps all three, perhaps he had found himself inside a haunted vagina with a Billionaire Dinosaur trying to pay him to shit.

She wasn't really sure.

The next headline wasn't that much better.

"Tim Drake, Alone and Stoned." It's like they've never even talked to him, Stephanie mused to herself. Tim doing anything close to getting stoned?

"Tim Drake, Gay and Afraid." That would explain ninety percent of her teenage years.Tim don't touch me there, the boy virgin of Gotham City.

"Find Me Somebody to Love, Demands Tim Drake to Father." It was that one that sent her over the edge. Giggling slightly under her breath she whispered, "Yes Damian, of course we will continue patrolling the streets!But I simply must find someone for your brother to love."

"Something has to be done."

"I don't know what you mean, Bruce." Tim responded, picking over the dinner Alfred had prepared so diligently for them that day. Bruce sat across the other end of the long table, Damian nestled somewhere in the absurd number of seats between them and Dick planted to the left of Bruce.

Tim honestly had no clue.

"Tt," Damian began, replying in a condescending tone, "As if you don't know, you haven't become that much of a social pariah have you-."

"Damian." Bruce interrupted, "Tim has never been interested in the ways of the press."

Press?

"You think he would be more concerned, maybe all those drugs he's been taking have impaired that? Or maybe it's like the daily scribe said, 'Tim is too tempted by the male body to allow himself near finer company again'?"Dick grinned towards the aforementioned brother,"Tell me, can you see through the tears of your loneliness?"

What? "What?"

"Tabloids Timmy, you're all over the tabloids." Dick found obvious humor in this.

"Normally this would be of no concern of mine," Bruce began clearing his throat, "But as they've begun getting more desperate for a story about you, their movements have began to follow yours more closely. It's too risky to allow this to continue."

Something clicked in his head. "So you're asking me to become more interesting? Just to play with a bunch of wannabe journalists for a day?"

"You really have no concept of how the press works, do you?" Damian snarked, practically stabbing his steak in frustration.

"It's not one story I'm asking for, its continuous movement in a press want something to report on, you understand. Lacking that is how you've gotten into this situation."

"So what, you want me to become a drug dealer or something? Fake an overdose?"Dancing around the subject was beginning to annoy him, if there was something to be corrected then it should be stated outright.

His response, however, was met with silence.

Either they had an idea and no way to put it, or the collective Wayne family was brainstorming.

He was about to dismiss the topic entirely when Dick responded once more. "A girlfriend would be nice." Bruce seemed in agreement.

A girlfriend.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but the only women I've been interacting with want to kill me." True, definitely true, last night he had a heel driven into his stomach by a C list villain after a failed bank robbery.

"I'm sure Todd knows a prostitute or two," Damian. The literal devil.

Dick ignored him, "You don't have anything? Any ex-girlfriends who would be interested in helping or?"

"Not that I know of-."

"He does." Bruce interrupted. "He happens to have one who I think would be instrumental to the dissolution of rumors of the press."

Instrumental?

"College enrolled, cheerful, blonde-."

"Oh," Smiling again, Dick's always smiling."Legs up to here…"His arm raised above his head in a far exaggeration of the measurement.

The figurative brick seemed to hit both Damian and Tim at the same time.

"Fatgirl."

"Steph." How they managed to be so in sync and yet so different was beyond anyone within the batfamily.

The only problem was getting her to agree.

"Alright Fatso," Steph rolled her eyes as the overweight alleycat that made a habit of eating her leftovers climbed onto her shoulder. He was at least a good fifty pounds. "It's you, me, and John Travolta vs. the world tonight." She stated, hauling him over to the beaten up old couch in the middle of the room.

Having her own apartment was good, too good. She almost wished she'd thought of the idea of moving out of her mother's place sooner. she could've collected furniture off the side of the road without her mother fussing over bedbugs and bloodstains much sooner. She could own a couch with a buttmark already worn in, not have to bother with doing it herself.

Bonus points in the fact that said buttmark was large enough for her to curl up in. God bless the overweight and forty.

"I hope you like the movie Grease as much as you like hamburger grease because both of those are on the menu tonight. It's my day off, as the crick in my shoulder says, and god damn I am gonna spend it with a man."

The cat diligently stayed put on the other side of the couch where she placed him, his combination of mangy fur and missing eye seeming to be in contrast with the large purring he was emitting.

He was broken, but nearly all good things in life were.

"Meow?" He asked, What's wrong, why is a supersexy fly lady like you alone in this part of town?

Okay maybe that's not what meow meant. In her mind Fatso as a human would be an overweight ginger man in his late fifties who always had his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel and flashed girls tacky smiles.

"I'm twenty-one. I live on my own, I have no boyfriend, my hair smells mildly like this sweaty guy at the library, my ex-boyfriend is apparently a lonely gay drug dealer of which I am only okay with one of those things and it rhymes with hey, and I'm spending my Friday night with a cat that isn't even mine." She answered evenly.

"But it doesn't matter because Grease is on channel nine in five minutes." Defeated, she sighed, "And I got a burger from a place called Nice to Meat You."

She gestured to the burger in grease-soaked wrapping on her pastel green dining table. (It was yet another roadside find.)

If cats could nod in approval this one definitely would.

God bless Fatso, she thought, the cat I never asked for. Shaking her head she waltzed over to the window to close it, the summer breeze having provided too much fresh air for her personal pity party.

Using one hand to brace herself and the other to fiddle with the lock on the window, she found it jammed and herself forced to look at the track for the window with her head mildly out of the building.

Great.

"Hold on Fatso, I gotta go get a hanger and fix this."

"Meow," the cat responded, turning to the tv.

She was back with a bent coat hanger within a matter of seconds, climbing out the window and onto the fire escape to begin to fix the damage. She wedged a shoe in the bottom of the window to prevent herself from being locked out and went to town on it.

"I must give amazing handjobs with the amount of jerking off I have to do to this thing."

And for a while everything was okay…

Until she heard the creaking.

"Go away, cat. I already have a stray in my house."She announced to the escape.

Creak.

"Oh come on cat."

Creak, creak, creak, creak, CREAK.

That's not a cat; she came to the comprehensive conclusion.

That is definitely not a cat.

The creak came up her level of the escape and she thought to herself how she thought she'd die.

Falling off a roof was her main bet in the past.

Not being stabbed to death on her fire escape.

The creaking, which was far too loud to be a cat, began to approach her. The perpetrator placed their hand on her shoulder.

Her wire coat hanger made contact first, before she'd even thought about it she'd whirled around and began mercilessly beating a hooded stranger without a second thought. Hooded meant bad, people who wore hoods were bad. Damian wore a hood up once or twice, case and point.

"Don't worry Fatso," She called over her shoulder. "Steph refuses to go down this way!"

The hooded stranger began shielding his face, screaming at her to stop. "Steph, for the-"

Oh.

She raised her coat hanger above her shoulders, raising an eyebrow as she questioned. "Tim?"


	2. Chapter 2

"So let me get this straight," Stephanie began after getting him situated beside Fatso on the couch, pulling up her own purple dining chair to sit in front of him. She continued slowly, unwrapping her burger as she talked. "You came to my house in the middle of the night wearing a dark red hoodie and climbed up the fire escape because why?"

"I need you." He rolled his eyes.

"Everyone needs me. I'm a very needable person." Taking a bite out of her sandwich she ignored proper manners and asked again, "What do you need me for?"

"A mission, top secret, can't tell anyone."

"Helpful."

When they were younger his eyes always seemed to drift to the ground when he was embarrassed, now she couldn't begin to tell you what it meant. They had a strictly work relationship, she didn't know him anymore.

"It's bad, huh." She concluded.

"I've been in the tabloids. The Gotham Scribe, North Star, you name them. My face has been showing up, and it's not ideal." He knew. Of course he knew, the Waynes knew, therefore, he knew.

"Yeah, I read something about you being a drug-dealing prostitute a while back, got a new job at the library and couldn't help but notice." If she didn't know better she could have sworn he was blushing. Was he blushing? Was it possible for the Red Robin to actually be a very red robin?

"The press is following me."

"So you climb my fire escape dressed like a maniac?" Another bite.

"I could hardly put on a costume until they're distracted." Suddenly everything about Steph's apartment was more interesting than her, especially the bare brick walls just behind her. "Which is where you come in."

What.

"You're going to have to put that in plain English, Tim, I don't speak crazy rich boy talk. If you haven't noticed I'm not exactly dressed to the nines and drinking champagne here."She gestured to her general attire, a large, oversized bootleg Green Lantern t-shirt and a pair of boxers that Tim prayed she had purchased for herself. Her hair was in a large lopsided bun (that was being generous), and she had ketchup on the side of her mouth. Perhaps he needed a second option instead. "You gotta tell me what you need me for and I have to check my crazy busy schedule."

"Date. You and I need to date."That seemed simple enough.

But sounded completely wrong.

They sat in silence for a good minute before he corrected himself.

"Fakely, we need to fake date." Ever the way with words, Drake.

Seeming to take the time to mull it over, she finished her burger and slowly got up to throw away the wrapper. When she returned she sat down slowly and calmly, looking him directly in the eyes. "No."

"I understand your hesitation." He began, standing up to walk to her, "But I can-."

"It doesn't matter what you can do, I won't. I have a nice life, and I'm not going out in the spotlight for my ex-boyfriend to tote me around like some trophy."

"You could get connections. This could land you a job right out of college." He rationalized, kneeling in front of her.

It was the mere action of tucking her hair behind her ear that set her off the most, that made her want to take her cat and leave.

"I'm a responsible adult now Tim, I have a job and classes to take. I started caring for a life other than my own even." And with that sudden point, the mangy cat known as Fatso was brought back into view.

"Is that even your cat?" He questioned.

"That's beside the point, Tim! I have a life! People to see! Places to be! New guys to kiss!" Definitely new guys to kiss, there was this guy named Nate at the library? Let's just say she's a sucker for blue eyes." I don't need to be spending my nights on the town with my ex-boyfriend. Our work relationship is already confusing enough!"

"Stephanie, kissing new guys hasn't exactly worked out for you in the past, not that I've heard."

She clapped her hand over his mouth, glaring. "You don't know me, Tim! You don't know my story."

And he reacted by simply rolling his eyes and removing her hand. With just a simple action he seemed to say, I know you more than other people.

And that was too much.

"I know your weakness, Stephanie Brown." He did, he definitely did.

"I'm an adult now, that's not going to work."

"Watch it work."

It was moments like this that he reminded her of the young Tim Drake, the non-gigantic dickhole.

But then he had to do the thing, the one thing she asked him not to.

And suddenly his hands were on her face in that sorta barely there make her knees wobble kind of way.

And his hand tilted her chin to face him.

And his mouth did that sort of sad smile.

And his eyes did that thing where they were just so blue and deep and god why didn't anyone fucking drown in them before because that's all she wanted to do-.With the thing she was back to being a stupid teenager crawling around on rooftops in the dark, she was back to watching him calculate plans with his hand on her arms to keep her from running; she was back to not saying no again.

"This is cheating, you're a cheat and you know it." Sigh.

"This is the utilization of resources in a desperate situation." He replied calmly.

She found herself cursing whatever part of her body it was that was making her behave like this, leaning back further in her chair to avoid his gaze.

He leaned in closer.

He had stubble on his face now, actual stubble arranged in some sort of five o'clock shadow with just the right amount of thickness. Stephanie began wondering if Satan actually had the time to arrange traps for her in the shape of men. Was someone in her room listening to her wet dreams or was this just a cruel twist of fate?

She leaned back further, arching her back on the top of the chair to achieve optimum away from Drake-ness.

His eyelashes were still thick, plush, wonderful. His lips had filled out slightly as they'd gotten older, he didn't look like he was sucking on a lemon constantly anymore and she highly doubted she could tease him about biting it when the mere thought stirred things in her.

She had to be strong, to have some sort of resolve. She looked away from his face, anywhere really, towards where the cat should be.

His arm was there instead.

Well, that explained why she hadn't fallen yet.

"If I say yes…"

"We'll just do the bare minimum to sell it." He slowly started backing away, providing some much needed relief.

"I want a real date then. No appearances without meaning, I want free food and dancing. It'll look better that way, people will buy it easier."

"Is that a yes?"

She just needed some time to compose herself, sometime to recover from the obvious age long drought that had made her react to Tim Fucking Drake Boy Virgin Slash Professional ex-boyfriend Extraordinaire. She just needed some time to not be beet red and overwhelmed by him.

He started leaning in again.

"Is this some sort of new batfamily torture technique?" Joking she looked anywhere, anywhere else.

"Steph."

"You already got a practical yes, leave me alone Satan."

Enough to insight a laugh from him, Tim straightened himself up from his predatory position. He manage to still hold her chair to ensure that she would not end up as the new delicious breakfast treat of scrambled Stephs.

"Next Friday at seven, charity ball, don't eat beforehand."

And with that (and the fifteen minutes Steph took to compose herself) he was gone, thankfully having chosen the front door instead of the window this time.

And Steph was frustrated yet again.

"I need to learn to say no to a pair of pretty blue eyes." She groaned, the ending music of Grease playing in the background as somewhere deep in her soul she cursed his casual conversation pace for ruining her whole movie.

"Meow," replied Fatso, true.

"And I need to get laid."

"Meow."

Well, there was always time in the next week to woo the library hand Nate, and truthfully speaking there was one thing Tim overlooked in this situation...


	3. Chapter 3

"Just remember Steph, anything you say can and will be held against me," Tim paused as he tightened the tie around his neck, a thousand dollar suit couldn't hide the anxiety in the decision he'd made. "You are the number one authority on the actions of Tim Drake now, so just don't say anything weird."

"Oh Tim," Stephanie began, casually re-adjusting her cleavage once more with little to no concern of the old women crowding around her as they launched into the third round of doting about her (currently missing) wonderful boyfriend.

She'd only been here for fifteen minutes and she had learned a list full of things about Tim Drake from the more elderly half of the Gotham elite:

1\. Tim needed to cut his hair, he looks like a hippie.

2\. He is such a dear and darling boy that most of the women were disappointed to learn of his otherwise taken status, as they had been looking at him for their granddaughters.

3\. Especially Cynthia, her granddaughter Sarah positively adored Tim. And god it will devastate her to learn that he is taken.

4\. Not that they have a problem with her.

good lord, is that drugstore foundation? It sinks into her pores too much. Sarah doesn't wear that, Tim likes Sarah.

Means to say she was not enjoying herself as much as she had in her antisocial event attendances in the past.

"Enough about Tim himself though, darlings, I think we all know what we truly want to ask our dear here." A woman donning salt and peppering hair with rounded hips named Petunia began, her age not far into her fifties.

It was the first time anyone had really attempted her name instead of some form of endearment, a sneaking theory in the back of Stephanie's head forming to say that they might not remember her name at all.

"Now what do you think of the ball my dear, isn't it grand? Extravagant? Be honest, I'd like it to not be too over the top, it is for charity and not myself." Was she the host? Oh god, had she been talking to the host without realizing it? Well, tick another screw up for Steph.

Was it extravagant? To Steph, yes, but she had lived in the part of town where you tied your shoes to keep people from stealing them from you. She didn't even know what the Charity event was for to be honest, the decor gave no hint. "It's good, I think, really good, I mean it's all for charity so yeah," She paused, "If it's for a cause then it should be good either way."

"Sarah would have responded better, but I suppose I shan't complain too much, it's not you I aim to impress." Shit, Petunia, ouch.

"Who are you aiming to impress with this, then?"

It seemed as if the group laughed in unison.

Somewhere deep in Stephanie's soul, the fight to joke about the hyenas from the lion king raged on.

"Well, of course, you wouldn't know him as we know him, being from the unsavory parts of town." She began, ignoring the flinch of her younger companion. "But I must say he is someone quite strong and handsome, tall and dark."

What? "What?"

Another one seemed to chime in, her voice having a more drawn out quantity than the first that just made the statements all the more concerning. "Voice gruff like my dad used to speak, a body that coulda put the whole navy to shame in the good old days."

Wait, were they talking about-

"That's the reason for our donations my dear, why else would I support such unclean demons of the sky?" The hostess clarified.

"Absolute menaces to society, I tell you." Another chimed.

"There is absolutely no reason I would have bothered with something so grotesque if not to know that he would have seen it and understood my support for him."

"A little bit rude here I know but," She had to know, Stephanie had to know for sure. "Again, I was obviously raised in a cardboard box with a tarp under it, dear god help me I am so poor- What's this cause again?"

"Oh, you don't know? I thought Tim would have told you," Did that woman just roll her eyes at her? What? "I suppose communication is the first thing to go in a relationship."

"We've only been dating for a week."

"They say signs of a mistake begin within the first twenty-four hours." Cold as ice, that Petunia.

"What is the theme for your charity ball, my dearest darling Petunia?" Two could play the eye-rolling game.

They were becoming absorbed in the argument, a few of the other women seeming to stiffen and fade away.

"What are your intentions with our dear Timothy, ?"

"I'm gonna hug him, I'm gonna squeeze him, I'm gonna pet him, and I'm gonna call him George." She replied dryly. "Charity of choice, now."

"I do so hate gold diggers," She remarked, looking her up and down. It was at times like this that Steph wished she had given Tim her actual clothing size instead of the size below, so she didn't look like she was airing out her boobs.

She crossed her arms, covering up the offending area. "I do so hate not knowing what we're paying for. Is it the burning of happiness for the youth, higher taxes the younger you are? What misery-inducing things have fallen on the agenda today? Maybe it's in support of handing every highschooler a pack of cigarettes when they graduate? Now that's scary."

Petunia blanched and silenced.

"Okay, so we'll be fair here, we'll put that down as a fifty-fifty tie. I got some sass in there and you didn't tell me what charity this is for." Shrugging, "I mean it's not perfect but I'll take it."

Petunia was still silent.

"Okay, okay, so I get it, you want me to leave you alone."Steph found herself raising her hands in defeat. "But let it be known, I know of your sexual deviancy and the whole tight man body thing, we could have been great friends."

Was she dying? Was this how dying went? Did Steph have to sit in an ambulance beside her? Would she have to move towns? Would Tim ever talk to her again? Did she want Tim to talk to her again?

Maybe if she just…

Turning to walk away, Steph found herself with a face full of Wayne flesh.

Bruce Wayne flesh.

"Steady Stephanie," Bruce Goddamn Batman Wayne was doing the charm smile at her, Bruce the Goddamn Batman was holding her wrist and making sure she didn't hit the ground like a bag of bricks. Bruce Goddamn Inconvenient Wayne. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt now, would we? I'm sure hitting the ground would be a rather unpleasant way to say goodbye, wouldn't it?"

She'd found that anything involving Petunia Withers was unpleasant enough.

That charming smile found its way to being directed at Petunia, Bruce's hand still clutching Stephanie's wrist. "I'm certain you'll miss her, won't you?"

The silence was deafening for a moment.

"I suppose I will."

"After all, it was so nice of her to come to this charity event with Tim for- What was it again?"

"Fruit bats." She was serious, deadly serious.

Fruit bats, oh god this was for Batman.

Steph needed to leave, needed to get air, to release the laughter building at the back of her throat and fast.

"Speaking of Tim," She struggled to keep her voice steady, to look either in the eyes. "I should go find him, outside, alone."

And now she'd lured both of them into an awkward silence.

"It's been awhile since we've seen each other, you know, alone, and I'd like to talk to him. Alone. Outside. Where I'm sure he's gone."

Bruce nodded and slowly released her wrist, not accounting for the fact that despite being shoved in a size too small A-line dress and heels too tall to not be considered a safety hazard Steph still shot out like a bullet.

After which she proceeded to not find Tim nor the outside.

What did find was wine, however, which was in fact very nice.

And food, which was also nice.

Actually nice was not the word to describe the food, the words gifts from God didn't do it justice.

Let's just say that with the amount of fruit-filled desserts of unimaginable quality, Steph slowly began to understand why the fruit bats needed support as a species.

"This is good." There was no one, in particular, to state that too, but she did so otherwise. The only other person in her general area was a friend of Tim's from private schooling and she didn't feel like a majority of her conversations today had gone too well.

Instead, she just fell into a passive but steady habit of people watching, taking note of people of interest around the room.

Dick Wayne, Bruce, Damian, Barbara avoiding her after her speech about bad ideas, The aforementioned Sarah actually smiling and laughing at people's jokes like the fully functioning member of society that her grandmother was not, Cass casting what looked like apologetic looks as she was chatted up, commissioner Gordon engaging in awkward conversation with people who he seemed to only talk to when he had to, and Alfred keeping a watchful eye on Damian from afar as he acted as chaperone to the younger man.

"And yet I avoided invitations to these things so many times before." She stated to the air.

"I don't know how, if you'd have known me you would have been invited to every single one." A reply came beside her, nearly startling her into dropping her glass of wine.

The private schoolboy had made a move closer to her, and another move as well.

"I have that type of personality, the kind that just screams don't invite me and if you do then leave me half the night." She joked.

"Don't take it too hard, Tim's always like this. If he's not currently chatting up the nearest CEO then check for him outside managing his finances on the phone." The man beside her grinned. "Don't know how he could, with a girl with legs like yours? I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes off of them."

"Tim's more of a personality guy." She replied, finally doing a full turn to look at the man beside her.

Tall, Asian, shaggy hair, nice ass.

"Marshall Xiao, my parents have bad naming sense."

"Stephanie Brown, my parents thought Jane Doe was too wild of a name."

"A wild name for a wild girl." He smiled.

"I'm dating Timothy Drake," She found herself leaning against the buffet table, his body following suit. "I can't be too wild."

"Tim's nice." He said, "You're nice."

"Nice to know I'm someone favorite around here!"

"Keep looking like that and you might be." Was it just her or had he gotten closer? Maybe she'd gotten closer? Someone had moved closer. He had previously been a few spaces on the table away from her when they had begun talking, now he was within arm's reach.

Silence with him was comfortable, casual. He moved slightly closer and it was easy to let him. He touched her hand and it became even easier to be around him.

Tim's face appeared entering vision on the other side of the room and it became hard. Hard because there was a mission to be done. Her hand found itself flying back to her lap, her eyes focusing on Tim.

"I think being one person's favorite should be enough for me, don't you think?"

"I think you shouldn't bar yourself from bigger and better things." His breath fell on her ear, she found her body stiff. "And trust me, I am bigger and better."

"I don't think you were friends with Tim in private school, not really, I think you're like an acquaintance."

That amused him, his face being the prime reason for her failure in Drake watching along with her losing his position in the crowd. "I'd like to be your friend instead if that helps."

"I have a lot of friends." She fired back, leaning away from him.

"What about best friends?"

"Be Tim's friend, a real friend."

He was grinning, full on grinning. "Come to a party on Friday and I might."

Tim located, talking to Sarah.

Damian approaching.

"I don't go to parties without a written invitation, I'm classy like that."

"Really? Because the way everyone's been talking about you all night, I would think you don't go to parties unless there's a keg and a few ounces of coke." Feigning a frown he added. "Believe it or not this one does have a paper invite, complete with a plus one." His hand grazed her knee, eyes trained on Tim's conversation as he ran it up her thigh. "Just let me put it somewhere fun and I'll let you have it."

Somewhere fun.

That sounded like a great idea with Damian Wayne coming up quick with a look of murderous intent on his face.

Brilliant.

She didn't even know if she wanted the stupid invite when she saw a flash of neon blue out of the corner of her eye and felt the paper go against her skin in the upper right corner of her bra.

She did know that Marshall had a sheepish smile and moved quickly and that Damian was most definitely harvesting murderous intentions when he reached her.

The nice part about Damian was that there was never an awkward or romantic, or really anything for that matter- type of silence with him. Damian always had to have the upper hand, even in conversation.

"Dance with me, the music is starting in less than a minute and Cassandra will be taken by Bruce to work on her form."

Aw yes, dancing, Stephanie's second favorite form of physical activity.

"Should probably dance with Tim, being his date and all." She responded, swirling her wine glass.

"He'll be dancing with Sarah for the first few songs, he's too agreeable for otherwise." If every single word that poured out of Damian's mouth became a person, the world would be overwhelmed with an excess of bitter old men complaining about the youth.

"Nice to know I have a purpose in this event." She gave her hand to him as the music started playing, glad to find as they walked to the center of the floor that she likely could have just continued the tradition of spending her nights home alone watching movies, as Tim and Sarah tripped and laughed together.

"We've danced for ten songs, do you ever get tired of leading a massive woman?" She questioned Damian, completing another spin.

He brought her back in, closer to his chest. For a preteen, he was doing well at the whole dancing thing. "I'm holding you until Drake finally picks you up, that way you don't sit at the buffet chatting up men like some common wench."

"I got it, I'm lower class, thank you, I'm glad that Gotham Caller announced that online tonight, don't know how I could have lived without the whole party knowing." Sighing, she spinned again.

"I still stand that he should have just started dating Sarah, it would have been easier overall. Has he not maintained multiple relationships where one is not aware of the cowl?" She was fairly certain that if she just looked past her head then she'd see the offending couple, the way that Damian was glaring.

"Do you have a problem with me being a part of this?" She questioned, the song having hit its peak and now slowly winding down, leaving her attempting a sort of swaying motion with him for the time being.

"I don't believe in putting you in any unnecessary danger from exposure to Drake, no." He seemed to ignore the small smile playing on her lips. "Your life will be far more valuable when I take up the cowl than his."

"Try telling him that." Was mumbled at some point or another.

The song started taking a dramatically slower turn, merging into the song after it.

At Stephanie's high school dances the slow song was always Bless the Broken Road, here slow songs had no words nor catchy country undertones. Slow songs moved at the steady pace of half a century when you had enough money that you could literally buy time.

She let herself feel the music with Damian, requiring no thought with the excellent leadership of a boy practically half her size. With Damian she was safe, she could lose herself in fantasies of princesses and night and all that wonderful jazz to this music. She could close her eyes and imagine slow dancing at her wedding with someone far taller and far more legal.

She could pretend for a moment that she was no longer her in a dress that was a size too small and entirely her fault, or that she did this for a guy that she didn't even like half the time.

She could, but she didn't.  
She found herself turned to face the two, Tim and Sarah dancing without a thought.

She found herself thinking of the great divide imposed on Tim and Stephanie early in their relationship, the game of wealth that she was born on the wrong side of things.

With his eyes meeting hers she thought of how ironic it was to meet as two strangers on a rooftop, turn to lovers, to strangers again.

The song finished and Damian released what she believed to be a noise of relief, releasing her as Tim traveled the floor to her, that fake smile painted on his face gaining the couple's attention.

"Steph." His voice was even, yet almost wary.

"Tim." Her voice was a warning.

"Would you like to dance?" His voice was a double entente, the show was supposed to begin right here and right now.

With Sarah watching.

"I'm actually feeling a little queasy here, ate food and all of that. Can we go outside?" She felt a sort of kin-hood for the girl via watching her throughout the night, an understanding of wanting someone you can't fully have.

"I'd prefer to dance." He replied.

"I don't want to."

"Steph." Now he was warning her, his hands reaching for hers.

"You take yourself too seriously, let's go outside and get some air at least." She joked, winking for the benefit of anyone listening in.

"What are you doing?" He asked immediately after they found themselves on the balcony.

"I'm not going to rub myself all over you in front of her!" She retorted.

"Her, who?"

"Sarah!" Dear god, was the boy stupid? "You spent all day with her, I don't even know why I'm here!"

"Sarah?" Asking, forcing her away from the door, deeper into the balcony.

"Sarah! Doesn't she matter? Isn't she important?" She questioned.

"She doesn't."

Oh hell no.

"Why not?" She practically screeched.

"Listen, someone could come out at any moment, let's just go out there and perform the mission." His hand was on her wrist, coaxing her to return to the party about goddamn fruit bats.

"You left me for half the night with those women in there knowing I'd be eaten alive for this girl, who is this? Why isn't she important?" She snapped her wrist back from him, glaring.

"She came at the wrong time, it's nothing to worry about. I was just talking to her to smooth over any rough feelings about you." Did every member of the upper class roll their eyes at her tonight? Was this a thing?

"What wrong time? It's always the wrong time with you!"

"Steph, I don't have time for this." He looked warily over his shoulder. "I can hear someone approaching here and I really need you to get into character."

"What time?" She repeated.

"She'd showed up when you came back from Africa."

He didn't look at her when he said it, just stayed still looking over her shoulder.

The footprints approached closer, coming out to the balcony.

She thought quicker than him, her arms wrapping around his neck and drawing him down to her mouth in a matter of seconds. He reacted in surprise as her lips just barely brushed over his, her hot breath falling on his mouth.

She sucked lightly on her top lip for moisture for a moment, bringing back memories of a much younger girl following him in a homemade super suit.

His breath shuddered against her as he slowly attempted to compose himself, finding her dive into him with the lightest of touches.

His arms began to wrap around her, his mind blanking at a definite fact;

Steph was amazing at this.

She was barely there yet igniting a fire in his throat, a tightness in his chest.

Sarah would have definitely been a better choice for keeping composure.

He could drown in her, and judging by the way she was acting? She was drowning in him.

It lasted for under a minute but had its desired effect, the intruder seeming to buy the rouse.

But wasn't leaving.

As she pulled away he caught the sight of Marshall Xiao leaning against a column closer to the house, a grin waiting on his face as Stephanie began to talk in front of Tim.

The man's fingers were looped around his own belt buckles as his face seemed to suggest that they would be seeing a lot of each other around, he only removed on to make a small wave as he left the balcony.

A sinking feeling hit the bottom of Tim's stomach as a small flash of blue was visible for only a second in the corner of Stephanie's cleavage, drawing his attention.


	4. Chapter 4

It'd been nearly a week.

It had been nearly one week and Stephanie Brown had made no sign of contacting him.

In the golden days, the days of Tim and Steph and all the love in the universe, this would have been a bad sign; these days..?

It was still a bad sign.

She reached out when the time was right, he showed up when she needed him. That's how it worked, that's how it always worked.

Steph had words, Tim had a presence.

And Steph had chosen not to use any words.

Steph had chosen to dance for two songs after their forced kiss, claim dizziness, pose for one picture, and then go home.

She walked, she didn't even let him drive her.

Ignore the fact that she could have been in grave danger walking home on a Friday night from a well funded charity event in heels.

The press was only half-heartedly convinced that they were involved, certain members of the ball had referred to her as a play thing.

They were not winning any Emmys for that performance.

Yet no amount of careful positioning in areas that he was aware she patrolled more than usual would result in their conversation.

"Was she really that bothered?" He questioned the night air, eyes steady on a pair of men enclosing on a teenage girl.

Because crime fighting was obviously the best time to be distracted by this sort of thing.

Sara didn't matter, it was unfortunate to say.

Stephanie didn't understand that, also unfortunate to say.

Sara will likely marry some business man who specializes in teapots, something he should have said.

Sara doesn't understand crime fighting like you; Another thing he should have told her.

Instead, he told her the equivalent of Sara doesn't matter because you used to matter.

Brilliant.

He focused in on the duo again, his breath hitching as they drew in closer to the girl as she walked seemingly unaware.

One's hand outstretched for her, Tim began to lean forward for the jump.

The girl began to turn, his feet moved on their own accord, ready for the hit of the pavement far below.

"She's alright, boy virgin, they're dating."

Her voice nearly sent him stumbling over the edge, years of training going out the window as Stephanie Brown managed to shock the living daylights out of him.

Years of time in Batman's presence had finally given her a gift thought impossible of Stephanie, stealth.

Or Tim had simply been caught unaware.

"You're talking to me." Ever articulate, that Drake boy.

"I talk to a lot of people, talking's kinda my thing." Her smile and approachment of his ledge were either a very good or a very bad sign, he couldn't decide yet.

Not knowing what else to say, he nodded as she passed his crouching stance to take a seat next to him, her legs dangling off the roof and ignoring the drop below.

"So do you hang around my mother's neighborhood often or-?" She was joking, expecting him to play along with her.

In response he just pulled himself out of a crouch beside her, sitting to be on equal plane with her.

Sometimes what worked best with Steph was just listening.

Just letting her sit and say what she had to say.

And occasionally give her a helpful nudge.

"So." He began.

"So." She replied, scooting down the ledge closer to him.

The silence of unprepared conversation stretched out endlessly in front of them.

This was exactly how every young adult wanted to spend a Thursday night.

The worst part was that he knew she had prepared what she wanted to say, there was no way Stephanie brown would ever go into this situation unprepared, but she still stayed silent.

Which meant that whatever it was, it was bad.

"When's the last time you ate?" Her voice filled the air again, relieving them from the silence.

"I can't remember." He admitted.

"I can't either." She made no moves to continue the conversation, none to indicate what she really wanted.

"Do you want to get food…?" Tim's suggestion rang more hoarse than he'd want, more confused than he'd prefer.

"Only if it's Red Robin's." She didn't even look at him when telling the joke, just kept her eyes focused on the distance.

"Do you want to go somewhere private?" Questioning her, because maybe that'd work, maybe something would work.

"Yeah, somewhere private, that'd be nice." A deep breath sounded through the air before she continued. "Just Steph and Tim though, no one else. I just want to be Stephanie and Tim."

He nodded, ignoring the obvious rule-breaking she had performed by saying their names. Her hand rested between them on the brick, daring him to take a chance he wasn't even sure he was allowed.

He ignored the ambiguity of the question anyway, noting how unreal the action felt when gloves served as barriers between the two.

"We can be just Steph and Tim if you want."

They took turns changing in a porta-potty by construction on the way there, both obviously under dressed and yet not caring in the slightest.

She kept her hand on his and her eyes away a majority of the time, not even bothering to quip about the irony of going to one of Gotham's finest restaurants and requesting a private room while wearing an outfit that in total cost her about ten dollars (Including the beaten up shoes on her feet and the giant green sweatshirt packed over her Batgirl suit in her bag.)

Tim wore a plain t-shirt and jeans that in her mind probably looked better than her 'I'm a lot hotter than I look' t-shirt and faded sweat pants.

They seemed to return to the ever comfortable growing silence as they waited on their waitress to come, Tim drumming his fingers on the table to an unseen melody and Steph wishing there was some sort of straw for her to at least play with.

Occasionally she'd look up to a confused smile and occasionally she'd look down to her chipped nails.

This was not a date because Tim Drake knew that Stephanie Brown would rather have a burger and fries than fillet mignon any day of the week.

This was just food.

Food with Tim Drake.

The Tim Drake who she needed to talk to.

About things, for reasons.

Which she was putting off.

But was in some way his fault, because obviously he had distracted her with his tapping, therefore she must tap back.

And look up to see his eyebrows go up as he watched her fingers tap.

Then wonder if he was tapping some sort of Morse code, because to be honest she was tapping the beat to Let's Talk About Sex by Salt and Peppa.

His teeth grazed over his lip for a second when she looked up again, it occurred to her that Tim, not Red Robin, was still an awkward dork like he had been in their teenage years.

It also occurred to her that Tim, not Red Robin, might have said something before that she had ignored in her attempts to be Stephanie, not Bat Girl.

"What were you saying again?"

He looked slightly amused, "I was saying that if you have any questions when they bring the menu, you can ask me. But also that we should probably get back to work after this, it's eleven and the less savory come out around midnight."

"Freaks come out at night, got it." She nodded, returning her eyes to tapping her fingers in front of her, mentally visualizing the piano keys.

"What are you tapping?" He questioned.

"One is the Loneliest Number." She replied automatically.

"Is that what you want to talk about, are you thinking of-"

"We should have rules." She interrupted, finally voicing what was concerning her.

He seemed to take his sweet time with blinking.

"For this." She clarified.

"I got that." He nodded, settling back in the booth for their private table for two.

"Real rules, ones that prevent me from being left in the over forty and divorced club's midst while you go canoodling off with some girl and leave my role in this as pointless." She stated.

"I'm listening," He stated with some of the ease of the new Tim Drake, the Red Robin, the obvious true enemy/friend (Frenemy?) of Stephanie Brown.

"No other girls, none, nada, no one." He seemed to agree with that enough, nodding across from her. "No one, you stay with me. Just me. I don't want to be alone at these parties again."

"You weren't alone, Damian was keeping a close eye on you."

"I was introduced to the social realm of Gotham for the first time officially on the arm of a pre-teen sans my original date." She quipped it, quipped it good.

"I admit that it was a little unfair to you-"

"You sacrificed me to the 75 and over club while you went to go canoodle with Sara- Which brings me to another rule."

"Rule two." He raised his hands at her pointed glare, "Just keeping track."

"You don't get to talk about Sara like that, ever again." The amount of eye contact she tried and failed to make was almost disappointing.

Tim's surprised reaction was not. "Like what?"

"Like she doesn't matter, not again." She continued. "I've been her, I've been the girl in love with Tim Drake and not able to help it, I don't want to hear that she doesn't matter- She's me, she's little Steph, she's just a girl in love with a boy." She quirked an eyebrow, "Got it?"

"I'm not in love with her." He said.

"I'm rooting for her."

"Then you're rooting for yourself." He was slightly confused, obviously.

And she had to roll her eyes at it.

"Oh please, I'm not interested in you." She was not.

Definitely not.

"Rule three." He continued, ignoring the statement. It was obvious now to Stephanie Brown that Tim Drake will never have a way with girls, never.

Ever.

"Rule three, the waitress is coming and you and I are going to smile and take the menus so then we can order our food." She stated just as the brunette came into view, her face lighting up as she faced the door the woman entered in as Tim slowly caught on with a sudden kick to his shin.

One kick and Tim was all smiles too.

The short brunette's smile as she handed the two their menus did nothing to relax the bubbling in Stephanie's stomach when she realized the menu's two dominant traits.

Long and French.

Which was incidentally how most women preferred their men, and how Stephanie hated her menus.

The smile she had cast the waitress quickly turned into panic as her eyes drifted from the menu to Tim.

Menu to Tim.

Menu to-

"Send the chef my regards, his menu is beautiful, but we'd like to special order." He seemed to sense her distress somehow, perhaps through frequent panicked looks and the reddening of embarrassment threatening to overtake her. "Chicken strips and whatever's the closest to french fries you can make, I have a craving that I'm forcing upon my girlfriend here."

There it is again, dorky nice young Tim, hidden in crispy angry angst Tim's shell.

Willing to embarrass himself for a damsel in distress.

Spreading that charming smile of love and happiness wherever he goes.

Being nice to her for once, or so she was convinced.

Stephanie was just rather biased after having been kicked in the stomach.

She waited for the waitress to leave before stating her opinion of such. "Rule three, you are not allowed to do nice things like that and then go back to being a dick."

"I'm not a dick." He retorted.

"You act like a dick to me."

"I'm being serious, Stephanie, we have a mainly work relationship now, we don't get to joke around like we used to. If I knew you.. Or this now bat affiliated version of you.. better, then we would go back to joking like we used to." He paused, "But I don't, we don't talk."

"Then talk to me, be my friend, make this easier, be there with me." She frowned. "I'm not just a suit and a cowl, I'm a face too."

"You know, I tried that, but I remember being told not here and not now, then being slapped later on for being engaged."

Frustration hit a peak in her, "-Rule four, I have needs, for information, for affection, for life. I'm sorry if you don't understand basic human emotion-"

Thank god they were alone. "...Ok."

"Just remain clothed and don't show me anything you haven't showed the old bats before." Even out loud that sounded wrong, if that had been repeated in her head then she could imagine how much worse it would sound.

Reasonable, but, "Rule number five is mine then. You patrol with me as long as this fake relationship goes on." He added, "For safety reasons."

"Safety reasons," She repeated.

"Safety."

"Not the fact that you hardly know me anymore?"

"Education and safety," He clarified.

"It's like my ninth grade trip to the fire alarm factory all over again." Finally, Steph had the chance to roll her eyes once more.

"Rule six?"

"There is no rule six, there's nothing left to add."

"No dreams or anything, things for me to buy, plans to move in?" Nevermind anything he had ever said about Steph being the wrong choice for this, Steph was in this moment the easiest choice.

"One dream, but I doubt you can fulfill it." And here comes the part where Tim Drake makes fun of her, right when she estimates the food will come to save her from embarrassment.

She's just got to count on that women's intuition.

"One dream?"

"No making fun, absolutely none, it's really old and ridiculous, so don't think about it too much." Very old and ridiculous, like Spoiler and Robin days old and ridiculous.

"I take romantic requests for my fake relationships, so go ahead and shoot."

She took a deep breath, careful to say every word as if it were as important as the last. "I want to ride a motorcycle with someone-"

"Not alone? Wow, risky." Was he grinning? Oh he was grinning.

"Who I trust enough to, you know,"

"I don't know."

"Have the radio up really loud and well.."

"I can do two of these so far."

"Stand up and spread my arms like I'm in Titanic for just a moment, even just a slight standing thing. With all the lights whirling by in the background, you know? Just being alive."

The waitress luckily chose that exact moment to enter with their plate of five-star chicken tenders and fry-like potato things.

It occurred to Tim Drake as he sat there in surprise that a sudden indescribable feeling had occurred low in his stomach.

"If that's what it takes then that's fine."

There was no motorcycle standing that night, the streets of Gotham were too overloaded with criminals and Stephanie was too tired to believe in her ability to stand up on a motorcycle and not immediately fall off. Tim supported this decision and walked her home for purely educational and safety reasons.

As Tim Drake.

As Tim Wayne, the version of Tim that was dating Stephanie, he likely would have left her at the door with a kiss and a smile.

But Tim Drake was her friendly thing, her non-Red Robin, the one who took her to dinner and offered to make a dumb dream a reality.

Tim Drake was Stephanie Brown's Tim, Tim Wayne was Stephanie Brown's fake romantic Tim, and Red Robin was a dick.

And that's how Stephanie remembered with who she was allowed to do what. (Despite the many shades of Tim making life as complicated as possible.)

And with this Tim, she was allowed to be worried and ask him to spend the night.

"Honestly, you look tired, you know that?" She began, fiddling with the lock on the door as he scanned over her shoulder for anyone threatening to get too close.

"Steph, I'm fine, I'm alright, I'll make it." He argued.

"There was a crack when you hit the ground that last fight, a bad crack. Friends don't let friends go home on bad cracks."

"I'll be alright, really."

The key that looked like a house, her tired brain reminded her. A key that looked like a house for an apartment that looked like a brick box. "...I live in a bad part of town, you know?" She stated.

"I told you that you should move during the patrol." He responded.

"We saw a lot of bad stuff today." She continued, twisting the door knob.

"We see this stuff every day." He countered.

She put all her weight into the door knob, hearing it creak open after a horrible loud amount of force. She knew she should have cracked a window to sneak into later. "Case and point is, I'm scared, spend the night."

"Liar." He shook his head.

She took one step into her apartment, grabbing his hand to lead him in as well. "You need sleep, now."

"I have my own apartment, courtesy of Bruce."

She tugged his arm. "On the other side of town, courtesy of Bruce."

He refused to move.

"Come on, you take the couch, I'll take the floor to keep an eye on you. I even have men's clothing you can borrow so you don't have a choice between jeans or giant black condom costume."

"From who?"

"My dad."

Well, that was a definite no.

"I can make it home." He reassured her, taking in the look on her face as he pulled away.

They'd actually had a decent night together for their first partnership and this is how they chose to end it.

In the olden days, Tim would have kissed her goodnight, would have said it with regret and longing to put aside morals and stay with her.

Tonight they both just stood in silence.

Tim made the slightest move to leave and her hand connected with his wrist again, causing him to look at her once more.

She looked unsure, nervous.

Her tongue went over her lips briefly, for a second he thought she was going to kiss him then had to remind himself that she had no reason to.

Except that she has needs.

Which of course was something Tim had to remember to scare himself silly in this moment.

And also bring back the part of him that would like to kiss her.

And sleep on her couch.

"There's this party.." She began, a rule of public appearance flashing in his head.

Parties.

Because they were dating he would be the one to go to these with her.

Of course.

"Long story short, it's hosted by someone I don't trust and I need you there." She finished, meeting his eyes with a tired determination.

Which brings the question of who Stephanie Brown doesn't trust.

"Can I ask who?

"He's a friend of yours, someone from private school."

"You don't trust anyone from private school." He replied.

"His name is Marshall Xiao."


	5. Chapter 5

The city lights streaked around her, a cacophony of sound and sensation hitting with every block they passed, a feeling of existing and yet not existing somehow taking residence in her mind.

It was dizzying, really, she forgot how amazing a motorcycle felt, how the open air surrounding her could make her feel. For a second she wished they'd taken a car, but as he carelessly passed a minivan she revoked that wish.

This was better, this was much better, so long as she didn't have to drive.

So long as she could just grab the bottom of the seat and let the world disappear.

Which of course, Timothy Wayne-Drake would not let her do.

They reached their third stoplight and he immediately launched into their argument from the prior two stoplights.

"I repeat, grabbing me would be much better in case of an accident than letting yourself fly off because you refuse to touch me." He reminded her.

"I need to center, zone myself, get into character." She reminded him in turn. "Become the Stephanie Brown, be the girl on newspapers."

"Isn't that Stephanie brown supposed to be in love with me?" He asked.

"Gotham Globe says I'm a cheating gold digger who's aiming for your older brother Dick." She replied.

"Gotham Globe also says I sell drugs; arms around my waist, now."

She tilted her head slightly more than planned with the weight of the helmet, her hands tightening on the seat. "As I said earlier, heroin or no deal."

"A good dealer doesn't sell to his girlfriend; Arms." He leaned his back towards her for easier latching.

"Well, maybe I need to stop being your fake girlfriend so I can get some of your fake heroin." She said.

"Maybe you need to get your real arms around my real waist so then you don't really die." He retorted, the other cars having finished passing and the lights soon to change.

"Maybe you need to-" She paused as the engine roared to life, hitting his back with her first. "Maybe you need to listen!"

"Maybe you need to stay out of trouble!"

"Everyone gets into trouble, it's a very common problem that doctors are still baffled by to this day." She argued, nearly being thrown off by him jerking the motorcycle forward slightly.

Cheater.

Despite the obvious urge to just walk off and leave him there, her hands found themselves winding around Tim's form. She tightened her grip on him to an uncomfortable amount, ignoring his responding grunt as she plopped her helmet-clad head against his back with a resounding thunk.

That'll teach him.

She stayed like that for a moment, greeted by his final silence as he took off again, closing her eyes and allowing herself a deep breath-

Oh god.

Was that-?

Ugh, god no.

Why?!

Why would he do this when they were in a contained area where he would be sweating excessively?

"You stink!" She yelled over the engine, praying he somehow heard.

"I know, I can explain!"

"You smell like Axe and perfume from Victoria's Secret had a baby!" She gagged, pulling her head back.

He turned his head towards her for a second, earning him her imminent heart attack as he ignored the fact that he was driving through the ever-busy streets of Gotham. Stephanie found herself buried in Tim's back as she awaited the collision. "A lot of the clubs in the circles of the wealthy have started using gas-based mood raisers to lower inhibitions, I'm trying to stop us from suffering those effects." He replied easily, keeping volume and calm.

He did, however, immediately turn back to traffic.

"Why do they need mood raisers if they're already rich? Isn't that the key to all happiness? Or are the old ladies at the fruitbat Gala shitting me?" She asked, much to the humor of Tim. She felt his laugh from the back, almost smiling in return before the toxic fumes hit her again.

Wasn't there already a really shitty superhero who overwhelmed people with scent?

"I guess money isn't everything." He replied.

"But in the eyes of the press, it is."

"We covered this, in the eyes of the press you're a gold digger and I'm a drug dealer. I don't think the press you're talking about really has anything worthwhile other than money."

"Your jacket still smells terrible." She stated as they approached the door of the nightclub.

"So appreciative, Steph, very glad to be your date today," Tim replied, again adjusting the jacket so it remained close to her body rather than shrugged to the ground as she was attempting.

"I'm pretty sure exposing someone to dangerous gases this close counts as a war crime." She rolled her eyes. "Your jacket smells like my aunt's foot."

"Glad to know your aunt's feet protect you from harm, was a bit worried that I was the only one who really cared about that sort of thing." He successfully managed to zip it at least halfway on her despite her struggles, patting the zipper at its position before realizing the closeness to two very...fleshy bits.

He promptly removed his hands.

"Your worry for my safety in all aspects of life is almost endearing, Tim."

"I do care about you, you know that?" He sounded a bit sheepish in his reply.

"Obviously not enough to wear cologne that I can stand." She grimaced.

"Protecting you." He replied, his hand returning to her to lead her by the small of her back, urging her towards the bodyguard at the door.

They both withdrew their licenses and grinned, pushing their heads together in what was possibly the cheesiest planned move they had ever made.

Did it serve to subconsciously reassure people they were a couple? Yes.

Did they look like complete and utter dorks? Also yes.

The bouncer immediately waved them in, evidently eye-rolling too hard at the two of them to even bother checking I.D.s any closer.

Tim managed to hold down an 'I told you it'd work' as he kept his arm on Stephanie, leading her from the dark hallway to the door leading to the party.

She looked at him for a brief second before the door fell open.

The explosion of lights and colors hit them as a unit, Tim's hand tightening around her waist as he dragged her in closer to him. Her lips formed a line as she stared forward at the masses of bodies colliding in tune with the beat.

The heavy base seemed to fall in line with her heart as she grasped the difference between a party thrown by a fraternity and a party thrown by Marshall Xiao, the speakers and decor obviously being better than that of her college parties.

"Big guy in Gotham, big party," Tim stated, shuffling her through the door.

"I'll say." She leaned in a bit closer to speak to him, fighting the volume.

They took in the scene a bit more, noting the dancefloor denseness closer to the center. Prime surveillance was the upper levels just barely railed off so one could remain in the party yet not so close. Bad ideas were the private rooms on the other side of the club and even worse ideas were the bathrooms given the fact that the party had been going on for a few hours.

Bathrooms full of puke were not to be on the agenda.

"Upstairs?" He asked.

"If you take your arm off my back and stop leading me around? Yes." She said.

"Hands then," He replied easily, his hand drifting from her back down to her hand. "It'd be too easy to get lost otherwise."

She nodded, gripping his hand as the two made a beeline for the stairs.

"I'll admit, the open air here makes me a little nervous." Stephanie grinned, leaning over the railings that were meant to prevent one from falling over and down four stories into the dance floor.

"What? You can handle the streets of Gotham and fifteen story buildings but not this?" He questioned, wrapping his arms around her waist for the crowd as his head rested in the crook of her neck.

Just a mission.

Just a months-long mission of pain and lust.

Despite herself, she found her body jerking away from his, closer to the bars and closer to free falling.

She currently wished that she had a little bit more than an earpiece from Oracle on her. She also wished that Oracle hadn't gone silent the second she walked through the door.

But she supposed everyone got distracted by Dick.

"We're running surveillance, aren't we? We should do that, find out what's wrong with this guy." She asked while staring down yet another camera across the way, removing an arm from her stomach.

"And how are you suggesting we run this investigation?" He returned, his other hand ghosting over her skin as he returned it to his side.

Ah.

That.

"By using the many social graces of Tim Wayne-Drake?" she asked, hopeful.

"I'll be honest, I've never been invited to one of these before." He replied, shooting down any semblance of a plan that may or may not have been forming. "I know two people here at most."

"Okay, plan b. Less Sherlock Holmes socialization, more the gang just getting out of the mystery machine style observations."

"We're in a room?" He provided.

"We are in a room, a big room. Big rooms have lots of clues. That is clue number one." She frowned. "You'd think we'd be the two people to be good at this." Sighing she suggested, "How about we toss our rule, split up, and then keep within eyesight of each other. What's the worst that could happen?"

Tim grimaced, his face already asking her if she was kidding before his mouth could let the words out.

"Okay, what's the likelihood of the worst happening?"

If grimaces could get more intense.

She returned the action, her hand connecting with his arm in a form of reassurement.

He stared at her, just Steph, and tried to come up with a better reply.

Nothing.

It must have been some profound skill that Stephanie had perfected in Africa, the art of silencing Tim Drake.

She made eye contact briefly before she walked off.

He tried to think of other ways.

He watched her form disappearing into the crowd.

A sudden heavy feeling hit the bottom of his stomach.

He took a moment to look around the room, the feeling growing worse and worse with every way he turned.

"This is an extremely bad idea." He stated.

"You know, that's an amazing idea," Stephanie stated, looking over the black-haired man's shoulder at the unholy concoction he was making.

He grinned over his shoulder. "Some call it an Alcoholic's Suicide when you combine all the liquor you can find. You know what I call it?"

"The reason for your next AA meeting?" She questioned.

"Disappointing my father." He grinned, pouring more vodka into the glass.

Okay, so maybe choosing the alcoholic in a leather jacket who was clearly bent on being fucked up by the end of the night was not the best idea, but people tended to recognize their own type of person and if anyone was going to give Stephanie information then god damn it would be him.

Something about him just gave off that sort of definitely not upper class and sure as hell, not the middle-class vibe that Stephanie had spent most of her life around.

Maybe it was the way he downed his drink in one gulp.

Maybe it was the shared trait of also wearing a leather jacket.

Or maybe it was just the way he held himself and communicated that he sure as hell did not belong here.

She wasn't sure.

"So Blondie, do you come around here often?" He asked.

"Naw, rich people and I don't exactly get along, against what the papers will tell ya."

He nodded. "I can tell, a miracle you put up with Drake at the least."

Was he grinning?

He was grinning.

Oh god.

Those blue eyes.

"He's not that bad, very opportunistic, a blue-eyed wonder like Bruce likes them." Caution, Steph, caution.

"I'll say." Was that sarcasm? Was he using sarcasm? "Bruce likes to see a lot of himself in his boys, that's why they all have to look like him. "

"You mean to tell me a blonde haired blue eyed girl like myself may not apply for the position?" She joked. "Damn, my back up plan for if things don't work with Tim has failed already."

Was she winning his favor?

It seemed like she was winning his favor.

He wasn't even drunk yet and she had won his favor. Maybe Steph could socialize at a party with the Gotham elite.

"You dance much, Brown? Or am I gonna have to find different company for my first dance of the night?"

She opened her mouth to respond, his hand was already out to her before she could get out a word.

"Guess I can't say no, then." Raising an eyebrow she took his hand, finding herself dragged out to the dancefloor in a matter of seconds.

A little bit cocky, a little bit drunk, a little bit of a stranger.

Every teenage girl's heartthrob.

"So do you do things other than drag strangers out into the dance floor?" She had to strain for him to hear despite the fact that she was practically squished against him from all the other grinding adolescents.

"I figure things out." Smirky-mc-smirkersen.

"Like?"

Evidently, that was the right question, as a grin expanded on his face.

"Right now I'm trying to figure out something hard, a blonde girl who spends more time away from her boyfriend than she should."

"We have a distanced relationship, I keep my space, he keeps his." It was easy enough to say, that was the way it had always been, hadn't it? "There's not that much to figure out about me, though, I'm an open book. Anything you ask I can tell you." That was a lie.

That was a definite lie.

"How'd a poor girl like you get with a rich kid like Drake?"

Well, that was straight to the point.

"I don't think of it in those terms," She admitted. "I never have." Because it never mattered, because I don't think of myself as less than anyone. "Tim and I just sorta found each other, you know? Like one day I was living without him and then the next day I hit him on the head like a brick." Bad joke. "For a long time, he was everything even, my best friend and the love of my life. Tim just came into my life and brought with the pieces that were missing."

Was and were; The keywords. Not anymore, not like this.

And alcoholic stranger seemed to notice this, the tense and the small meaning behind it. He saw an opening and he went in for it, he ground in closer to the point where his breath was felt on her face.

Toothpaste and alcohol.

She wondered briefly what she smelt like then recalled Tim's jacket on her upper half.

And the fact that it smelt horrible.

Pulling away she smiled at him earnestly, continuing what she was saying. "Tim's important to me."

"Are you important to him?" Were his hands on her hips?

Oh lord his hands were on her hips.

"I can't answer that." Her hands moved over his, grasping them in preparation to move them.

Instead, his thumbs moved in front of her hipbones in circles, making her mind a little numb. "Just a little guess."

"I don't like to make guesses." And yet her hip moved forward into his touch.

"Help me a little, I want to know how much this is going to hurt." His face was a fake innocent, his hands were a very real deviant.

"What's going to hurt?" This was not good. This was definitely not good. Where was the part of Stephanie's brain that made her body follow judgment, had it taken a break? He could kill her, this guy could kill her.

She could be dead in less than five seconds, and yet she was freezing up.

His hands were traveling up quickly, running over her body.

This is why splitting up is a bad idea, Freddy. She thought to herself.

And then they traveled downward again, and she thought that she might live. That maybe someday the world would see a forty-year-old Stephanie Brown still alone and still with Fatso.

Maybe Nice to Meat You would still be open, maybe she'd have a burger and a coke.

And then suddenly the air vanished from both beneath her feet and inside her lungs.

As the world fell back she thought of all the things she could have done, all the people she could have been.

Who would she be if Tim and her had stayed together? What would the world look like if she had died when she was supposed to? What if she stayed in Africa and learned more about medicine with Leslie? What if she stayed Robin? Spoiler?

Alive? The thought of that was nice.

And then she realized that she was alive at this very moment still, and decided that that fact was, in fact, a very nice fact.

The ceiling of the club rushed through her eyes.

People, lights, colors, sounds.

The world was very real in these moments.

She could feel the air filling her lungs, see every little detail.

This was a near death experience, Stephanie's body had panicked and decided.

There were cracks in the walls, black boxes on every level.

A camera pointed at her from the top floor.

A camera pointed at her from the third floor.

Every camera pointed at her from the view of the arc that her body was put through.

The world moved very slow.

Another camera pointed down at-

A very horrified Tim Drake.

A very very horrified Tim Drake with a camera pointing at him.

Because at that very moment Stephanie Brown was not dying, nor injured.

She was in a very shocked state of dipped and kissed.

And if that wasn't the real kicker, there was even tongue.

A few things had come together in Stephanie's moment of possible death and real horror.

Barbara wasn't talking to her all night despite the earpiece she had insisted be placed before they left, Marshall Xiao had insisted that she came to this party and even included a plus one yet didn't approach them at all, she smelt the guy's breath because there wasn't anything else in the air despite gas being typical of an elite party, and cameras were trained on both her and Tim.

She wasn't the only one with the idea of surveillance.

She came back to reality with that idea, her current situation.

The man's eyes were steadied on her as he dived in yet again, Tim's voice was screaming something.

She needed a window, a moment, something.

If she was just patient.

Tim kept yelling, forcing his way through the crowd, she closed her eyes momentarily to fake relaxation.

When she opened them again Tim had gotten closer, forming some word and yet not entirely finishing it before she made her move. "Ja-"

Her knee collided.

She hit the floor in a matter of seconds.

The man began swearing at the top of his lungs.

Her eyes were met with Tim's as she lay on the ground.

Words seemed to have escaped him.

Or perhaps just fallen to the ground after being dropped by a very bad (yet very attractive) man.

"We need to get out of here." She suggested.

He nodded slowly, not really comprehending what on earth was going on.

"Now." It was a combination of things, a plea, and a command, but also an almost apology.

Because God knows she never wanted him to see that.

If they were being watched when they had far more to worry about than the guy screaming in pain on the ground.

His hand shot out to her, helping her off the ground as he quickly scoped out the nearest way out.

"I'm really sorry Jason," He muttered under his breath, "I'll pay for any medical bills later."


	6. Chapter 6

Almost immediately upon entering his apartment, she yelled it, having waited in silence the whole ride home waiting for the safety of his apartment.

Or rather almost yelled it, until she was met with the goddamn Ikea catalog.

White, glass, metal; there was really nothing else in this apartment. It felt like the generic business office of every TV show she'd ever watched, only having the added misfortune of actually having someone living in it.

"Oh god, drop the interior decorator, boy wonder." A groan on her part. "I was going to tell you what's going on, but oh god this is horrible."

He sighed, passing her to throw himself upon his couch. "Important things with Stephanie Brown."

"Honestly, I'd expect this of Bruce."

"Topic, stay on topic." Was he face palming himself at her? Was that something he thought he could do?

"We're in danger, or we were in danger, is that still we're?"

More sighing, what a great guy. Stephanie definitely loved being with him in his apartment, being sighed at. "He was watching us. Marshall was, the whole party was a set up."

Raising an eyebrow at her, "And you know this?"

"Because we missed the most important parts of the party all night, we were too busy being on our A game to look up what was really happening." A stride over to a nearby unsurprisingly white chair, she shrugged the heavy leather jacket off of her shoulders and took a seat. Struggling for a second to pull the jacket out from behind her after said seat, she finally plunked it on the table. "Smell the jacket, it smells like shit."

"That cologne is two hundred and forty five dollars a bottle."

"The scent's not diluted a bit, I could even smell the mint on the alcoholic guy's breath when he dipped me. Tell me that's not strange." Tim's eyebrow raised at the mention of her alcoholic friend, an explanation would be needed for who he was later.

"It could be a personal choice."

"Don't tell me you don't think he's creepy." She explained to him. "There were cameras planted at the ceiling, watching us. Isn't that a bit strange? Not to mention, he goes to all this trouble of inviting me and some sort of plus one and we don't see him anywhere within the amount of time we were there."

"The place was packed, Stephanie." Tim rationalized. "And he could have just wanted your looks there, it's not uncommon for men to want good looking girls to increase their party's reputation."

Well then, it was time to make herself cozy for a long argument with Tim. She threw her legs over the side of the chair, moving into a lounging position with a thoroughly unimpressed look on her face. "He was watching us, all the cameras in that room were pointed at us. And don't tell me that whoever that other guy was was just there for a good time. He has it out for you, he could be some sort of thug employed by Marshall."

At that suggestion Tim released a snort. A genuine Damian Wayne style snort. "I highly doubt he's a hired thug."

"He had it out for you, and there has to be a reason why!"

"He does, and there is." He replied, bemused.

"Then what is it? We need to figure out before something happens!"

"Nothing will happen." If Tim rolled his eyes anymore than Stephanie would likely join the man.

"You don't know that, you don't know him, he could be anywhere-"

"Jason." It was simple, flat, very characteristic of red robin.

"Exactly! You could end up like Jason, dead in a gutter." She chimed.

"No, he is Jason."

Oh.

Oh that explains a lot.

Oh.

Maybe if someone actually told her anything, or they had some sort of family reunion, or introduced him to her-

"That's Jason?"

"That's Jason."

"Not charred, not broken; that's Jason."

"I mean, yes," Tim paused, confused, "He is."

She leaned back, releasing a whistle of admiration. "Damn."

"Damn?" He squinted.

"A ten, an absolute ten."

And that seemed to irritate him. "Listen, it doesn't matter what he looks like, he's crazy. Jason has been wrong before and acted irrationally as well, whether he went to a party or not doesn't matter. For all we know he could have just showed up to pick up girls."

"But what if he didn't? What if he's not?" A frown, she leaned to touch him. "I know that Jason and I are right."

He stood, shaking his head. Slowly, he walked through the nearby duo of half walls to his kitchen. Calmly standing in front of the fridge before beginning once more. "Just keep your mind on the mission and keep faking it, don't worry about anything else."

"How can you say that? You know better than anyone that I can't do that!" She complained, sprawling more so on the chair.

It was a miracle when he allowed her up to her apartment alone at the end of the night, allowing her a few moments of what she claimed to be actual thinking.

Instead, it was moments of fiddling with her in ear radio before remembering she had a phone, and calling a rightfully pissed off redhead.

Who was wondering why she of all the people had to endure radio silence for an extra hour if they left early.

"Again, I'm sorry mom, I didn't know you cared enough to give me a curfew." She joked, making herself comfy in the fat dent on her couch,

"I'm sorry, someone entering a building accompanied by radio silence normally means one thing, and that's trouble." Barbara Gordon's flat voice rang out.

"Then hack the club cameras, see what I'm doing, I don't care." Steph snarked.

"I'm sorry that my services do not belong to you alone, Stephanie. Believe or not, there are other heroes. There was enough signals ending at one place that I assumed I didn't have to."

Ah, the lead she needed to talk about. "Enough signals, right? Care to tell me about one of them?"

Barbara Gordon had an array of talents in this world, one of them just so happened to be the ability to express disapproval over the phone with absolutely no sound. She embraced that talent for a moment. "Which one?"

"Jason Todd," She responded, relieved to see a familiar face coming to her window. God Bless Fatso. "I've made a nickname for him, tell me if you get it- The Boy Who Died." She lowered her voice upon the ending, laughing to no one in particular.

"Another Harry Potter joke, cute Stephanie. What do you need to know about Jason?"

"Oh you know, the normal stuff. His age, his sex, his location, his blood type, whether or not he's an organ donor- Everything."

"And why, may I ask, do you need that information?"

"For me to know and you to drill out of me later." She chimed, gesturing fatso over to her.

A sigh, why was everyone sighing at her today?

"Well if it's something important, you'll be pleased to know that his self-declared older brother has forced him to the Wayne dinner party this Saturday. The one of which you have been cordially invited to. Think of it like another press opportunity."

Ah, Tim had talked about that earlier, hadn't he? At the charity ball? His apartment? She wasn't quite sure, just that she'd tuned him out.

Another fun day with rich people, playing tea and dress up.

"How many people?"

"Twenty eight, it has a theme courtesy of the newest arm candy Bruce totes around."

"Ugh."

"International Seafood, a journey."

"Why can't it be something likeable, like breakfast foods or Fried Foods, a journey?" She muttered. "I can't eat seafood without thinking about Papa's weird crawfish thing."

"Grandfather?"

"Paternal." She rolled onto her stomach, letting out a low moan as fatso slowly joined her atop her back. "I'm going to be sick this whole entire event."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay? You look like you're going to be sick?" Dickie bird, oh sweet Dickiebird, she did love Dick.

Asking her over and over again if she would be okay, why she was so unsteady, if she wanted a space on the couch. He was the gentleman of the family.

Not that Tim wouldn't try; if he wasn't so busy she was sure he would be besides her asking about her health and if she would be okay.

It was just the fact that, you know, wasn't again.

Instead he was chatting up Sarah again.

"I'm okay, Dick, I just don't like the smell of seafood." She grimaced, flattening the more conservative dress that Babs had picked out for the occasion. Where Tim had placed her in a size five plunging neckline of a dress, Babs had dressed her in a far more conservative eggplant dress with a white cardigan that covered all of the goods.

She really wasn't quite sure what was worse.

Even as she walked away from Dick, she found herself scanning the horizon over and over again for some, if any, sign of Jason.

There was no food laying out yet, and any alcohol in sight was wine which she doubt he enjoyed.

Every corner was empty, Bruce was in a crowd of people sans him.

With Cass? No.

Damian and Alfred? No.

Dick? Definitely no.

Tim and Sara? Oh god, she was stroking his arm, it was a definite no.

That left Babs, someone who would obviously not waste her time with him.

Only…

They sat together in conversation, his face in a coy smile, her's in a slightly irritated state.

Maybe it was time to join in on the information gathering.

"They get along well, despite what Babs would lead you to believe." Ah, Dick, capable of giving all women heart attacks.

Some not the same ways as others.

Steph spun around to meet his face, pursing her lips in reactions.

"He always was my greatest competition, believe or not. Save for a few surprise appearances of Ted Kord," he shrugged. "Jason's just good with the ladies."

"Ted Kord? Isn't he-?"

"The super genius and all around weird guy with strong technical backgrounds? You're right." A wink.

"Why Babs?" She continued, "Is that the only reason he came?"

"Naw, he probably wants something from Bruce," His smile faltered for a second, his eyes wandering to them. "But Babs, well she's just got that sort shine that you really have to know her to understand, it's a Golden age thing."

An idea finally hit her. "Do you know anything about Marshall Xiao?"

Another falter, his smile seemed to crumble for a matter of seconds. "Not that I could tell you here, or now."

She stared, hoping to break what had crumbled more so and force him to reveal what he knew.

Nothing.

"Why not now?"

He raised his eyebrows, having a fairly good idea of how to escape the situation. "I mean, your date is coming."

And he was right.

Her dork in shining armor, dick in dork armor, and definite giant condom impersonator was approaching.

And for once, he looked happy.

A genuine, strange, happy.

And with his smile, she almost felt the same.

"I'll just leave you two lovebirds alone," Dick chimed beside her.

"Shut up Grayson," She retorted. "You will be held to that promise from earlier."

With his own smile, Dick Grayson threw a wave and walked off, coincidentally in the opposite direction of Barbara Gordon.


End file.
